Contents

Two days I was sealed within this crypt without food or water. I do not know whether hunger
or poor health or one of the creatures who share this dank hole with me will kill me first -- I
only know that I will soon be dead, and not even my bones with remain. My hope is that in
the years that come, this letter will be read and the sad story of {...}, Prince of Sentinel will be
told. I am fifteen years old at the time of this writing, and have been plagued with bad health
for most of my life, to the frustration of my hearty parents. The finest healers and apothecaries
in western Tamriel have labored over my every cough and fever, but while they could save
my life time and time again, they could not improve my sickly constitution. In retrospect, I
received little real affection from the king and queen, embarrassed as they were about
begetting such a cripple as the heir of the kingdom. I cannot say I missed the love; I received
much attention from the doctors, priests, and herbalists constantly at court. Certainly I was not
to be the sort of warrior that King Cameron was, but one of my dearest friends, a priest of
Stendarr said that I might be the first scholar-king in the history of Sentinel. My younger
sister Aubk'i was the true favorite of my parents: athletic, beautiful, and charming. It is hard
to think of an uncomplimentary word for her. I am resigned to my imminent death, and yet, I
would like to see her once again. For six years, Aubk-i and I were the only children of
Sentinel. Eight years ago, the queen had a boy child and named him Greklith, after the ancient
Redguard word for Strong King. Few speak that tongue any longer, but all the scholars and
nobles of Hammerfell understood. And Greklith is a strong boy indeed -- I have never so
much as seen him cough. The Queen's next child, born only a year after Greklith, had an even
more ominous birthname -- Lhotun. Second Boy. Perhaps had I been less sheltered, more
suspicious by nature, I might have read into these nominations. Lhotun and Greklith are
common enough names in our family, I reasoned. Now I know that even then, I was
disinherited -- even if it was not official yet. For several months before Lhotun's birth and
over three years afterward, I was in the throes of a very serious fever. The doctors despaired
of me, but somehow and very, very gradually, I recovered. For the first time, and the last, I
read an expression on my father, the King's face that was not indifference. It was disgust. That
was a fortnight ago. Three nights ago, I was seized by men I had never seen while I was
having a walk. My nursemaid stood by watching placidly as I was gagged and tied and
thrown roughly into a sack. I do not know how long they rode with me, but I was eventually
left here. When I finally freed myself from my bonds, I found that I was alone. My wanders
have gotten me nowhere. This place is filled with undead creatures that prevent me from
finding any exit. I have no hope left, but no fear either. A few regrets. Perhaps had I studied
magic instead of history and science I could free myself of this place. One of my tutors told
the story of the Underking, how he had placed his lifeforce in the body of a powerful being
and had thus conquered all Tamriel long, long ago. Had I only had the strength of a more
powerful body like that. But I did not study magic. I studied history, so I leave this letter --
not to revenge myself, but as an historic document.

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